"Think about this, Memmo. This foundation will exist in lieu of the traditional family estate that was managed by your brother, your Papa, your Nonno." She measured her points with hard rhythmic strokes of her hand through the air. "The family will hold title, but the bulk of the assets will be held in the foundation. So the future security of the estate will depend entirely upon a well-run foundation. All the maintenance decisions, restoration and protection of the building, many of its valuable artifacts, all the estate businesses, including financial decisions about the institute, will be in the hands of this person. Who would you trust with it?"
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to tamp down his frustration. He'd been working three jobs. He was already exhausted and felt as old as dust. After all he'd done for her, she wanted still more. "You don't understand, Clio."
She dipped her chin, her eyes burning into his, narrowed with frustration. Her nostrils flared. Didn't she? "Really?"
He spun his legs off the edge of the bed and sat up, scowling at the carpet and the paisley patterned quilt that had slid to the floor during their spirited lovemaking, stroking and pulling at his brows. He could feel the anger radiating off of her, hear her labored breathing. He refused to be forced into doing this. Frame it differently though she might, this was exactly the job he had always avoided. Basically the same set of responsibilities that had destroyed all the men of his family for generations. It went against everything he believed in, everything that he was. He stood and approached her, with trepidation, and tipped her chin up with his fingertips. "Per favore, Bella, try to understand my position. Don't push me on this."
She stiffened and pulled away from his touch. "It's not just about you and your preferences. The villa needs you. Your family needs you."
He dropped his hands to his sides, his fists gripping, cracking. Out of respect for her, and because he couldn't afford not to, he said, "I will think it over. I don't know what else to say right now. That will have to do, Clio."
She pressed her lips together, and her eyes welled. "You can't run away this time." Her chin wobbled.
Don't you dare weep. Damned women! She wouldn't manipulate him into doing what he couldn't do. He searched the room for his discarded clothing and began to dress, his movements jerky. Where are my socks? "I can't say yes. Not like this. So don't try to–"
"You are running away again."
Their eyes met, both equally cold and hard. "I am not running. I'm making a choice. I'm doing what is right for me."
"You said you would think it over. But you've already made up your mind, haven't you?"
He ground his teeth as he buttoned his shirt. He was sweating, and the shirt stuck to his flushed skin already. Where is my fucking sock? He flipped the fallen quilt up, tossing it down again. Fuck it! Pacing to the living room, he threw his laptop into its case, leaving the papers strewn about for Clio to sort.
"All our work will be for nothing!"
He shot a hard look at her. Tears were running down her cheeks. She'd followed him, but stood, draped in the sheet, her shoulders bare, the fabric twisted around her legs and pooled out on the floor like a train, looking for all the world like a statue of Grecian goddess. Or her namesake muse. His throat felt sore and tight. His chest ached.
Stronzo. He strode to the door and jammed his feet into his shoes, the leather binding on his bare heel. His limbs were heavy and clumsy. He fought to grind his foot into his loafer. It seemed to take a ridiculously long time, yet she stood, and did not speak until he turned to leave.
"Memmo!"
The door slammed behind him as he thumped down the stairs and into the street.
Chapter 25
The letter to the ministry was written and printed, lacking only a signature. It burned a hole in the file that sat on Clio's desk while her calls to Memmo remained unanswered. Her stomach roiled with nausea while she waited, hoped, prayed that he would call her back. Fruitlessly.
Clio had sacrificed and risked too much to quit now. She couldn't give up on the villa. Time was running out. She had no other options. What did he expect her to do?
She had considered contacting Jacopo. He was the eldest. He was currently in charge of the family estate. It seemed logical. But Clio had met him only the once, and very briefly. And if Guillermo was hiding this from anyone, Clio knew it was Jacopo. She'd picked up the phone more than once, but overcome with heart palpitations and fluttering in her stomach, she'd nearly fainted with fear.
So she had called Pia and asked her to meet in the city. She and Pia had connected that first weekend at Villa Cittadini, and she'd been such a warm and generous hostess. It offset some of her nerves.
Pia was happy to do it, in fact had planned to be here today anyway, to meet with a friend, she said. Clio hurried to meet her at a caffe on via Pellicceria, a street of fashionable shops between the Ponte Vecchio and the Cathedral, not sure why she would want them to suffer the crowds of tourists or the inflated prices in that part of the city. She would rather have had a quiet place to share what she needed to say.
Pia waited at a table at the rear of the caffe. She greeted Clio warmly, embracing her and kissing her cheeks.
"I'm so happy to see you, Clio. Bibi told me that she'd seen you at the villa, but I haven't heard anything of you since then." She bent to rearrange several large bags and baskets at her feet, and Clio thought she caught the edge of a hidden grin. The liar.
A waiter took their order for caffe, and she used the distraction to surreptitiously study Pia's face. Clio felt that she was sincere in wishing she'd had the opportunity to get together again before now, but she would swear there was more to it, and wondered what Bianca had said about her humiliating night of indiscretion. Too much, probably. Not that Bianca knew the whole story. She felt her face heat with shame, remembering.
"Have you seen Guillermo?" Pia asked, straightening. It seemed disingenuous. Surely she knew something. Probably she was in touch with Marcella.
"Yes, quite a bit actually."
"Oh? Really?"
Clio smothered an uncomfortable smile, glancing at her hands. There was no reason for Guillermo's family to know about their affair, if they didn't already, despite the need to confide in them about the project. This seemed like as good an opening as she was likely to get.
Clio drew a deep breath and began her story of the past month's activities, interrupted only by Pia's gasps and exclamations of, "You can't be serious!" and "I can't believe Guillermo would do this and not tell me!"
"Well, it began in such a frenzy in the wake of the real estate deal. Everyone was so upset. And I know Guillermo wanted to make sure it was real before getting anyone's hopes up."
"And he's been working on all these different design options. Without telling Andreas, or Jacopo?"
"Yes, I believe so, although Andreas may have suspicions, since we solicited his help to identify alternate properties. I've been handing most of the paperwork– correspondence, application forms, proposals, phone calls. And he's been dealing with Richie and the bank. We meet regularly to discuss and plan, sign documents, and whatnot." Images of their passionate lovemaking, whatnot indeed, flashed in Clio's mind's eye, sending a shiver down her neck and arms, and making her blink and swallow. She refused to dwell on their last painful parting.
Pia sat back, silent, studying Clio's face. "What has happened? Why are you telling me now? And why you, and not Memmo?"
Clio lifted her coffee to take a large gulp. She dragged her tongue around her lips, stalling, trying to find the right words. "We, uh…we had a difference of opinion."
Pia frowned, her gaze shrewd. "And?"
Clio drew a deep breath. "I need a signature. A member of the family. It's very important, and must be dealt with immediately. And Guillermo won't return my calls. I haven't seen him for three days."
Pia's eyes narrowed further. "I gather three days is a long time for you to not see him?"
Clio nodded slowly. "Rather."
"I see. And y
ou want me to call Guillermo? Or–"
Clio shook his head. "No, no. He won't talk to me. I need you to sign the letter on behalf of the family, to keep the gears turning."
"Can't you resolve–?"
"He refuses to consider my proposal that he be director of the foundation."
"Oh?"
"You wouldn't consider acting as director, would you?"
Pia's eyes widened. "I'm flattered. I think. But that is absurd. Even if I were willing, my talents, er, don't lie in that area. In fact I've got my hands rather full of my own new venture."
Clio's heart sank. Though of course she didn't think Pia would be receptive to the idea. "Well, we'll find someone. Maybe even Jacopo. But I haven't had the courage to contact him. I hardly know him. And I'm pretty sure Guillermo dreads the blow up that will inevitably happen when he finds out we've done all of this behind his back."
Pia nodded. "Of course I'll sign the letter. Though you realize this is only a stop gap measure. You and Guillermo will eventually have to resolve your differences, and you'll have to bring Jacopo into it soon."
Clio's shoulders drooped, and she hung her head. "It may be all for nothing, in any case," she mumbled.
"Well don't you give up yet, Clio. I'm excited that this is happening, even if the odds are slim. I have been quite depressed about losing the villa, and feeling very sad that there seemed to be nothing we could do about it. I'll sign the letter of course. But I really ought to understand what is involved. Can you fill me in? Or give me something to read when I get home?"
"Si. Sure."
"And… even though I'm quite overwhelmed myself right now, I want to help. Tell me what I can do to help."
Clio dropped her head into her hands, raking her fingers through her bound curls. Her rings became tangled, and she dislodged strands as she tugged her hands free. "Ugh. Bloody mop." She stared at her empty hands, laughing mirthlessly, sounding a little crazy to her own ears. "There are so many pieces to it." She shook her head, overwhelmed.
"Are you still fretting about this?" Pia reached out and smoothed her frizzed hair, gently tugging on an escaped curl, and shook her head. "I'm going to take you to my hairdresser."
"Why?"
Pia smiled. "Angelo will know what to do. A little strategic layering, some deep conditioner and the right styling products and you'll be transformed."
Clio snorted and shook her head. "Yeah."
"Break it down for me."
At Clio's blank look, she clarified. "Tell me about the villa. What have you and Memmo been doing?"
Clio tried to clear her thoughts. She rattled off the components to the plan, the many faceted items on her to-do list. "I know Memmo's been talking with the banks, and I'm no expert at business, but I know our outline of finances is sketchy in many areas. He is able to quantify and estimate all the building costs, of course. And I have a reasonable notion of the costs of running academic programs, hosting conferences, that kind of thing. But we have gaps. Our business plan includes supplemental activities that would support the institute, but have the potential to earn income for the estate. Hospitality services, holiday rentals, special events, accommodations and food, that sort of thing. But between us, Memmo and I have no experience and few particulars to fill in the blanks."
Pia straightened. "Food? Houseguests? Parties?" She laughed. "Now that's something I do know about."
Clio frowned. "You do?"
Pia shook her head in disbelief. "Of course. That's my specialty. In fact, I have a secret of my own."
"What?" Clio's mind raced, trying to make sense in what Pia was saying.
Pia reached forward and took Clio's hands between her own. "I would hesitate to share this with you, Clio, if you weren't so obviously deeply involved in our family affairs already."
Clio nodded, leaning in.
"As you already know, Paulo and I have invested our fortunes in the restoration of the vineyards and the Cittadini label. What no one knows is how hard it is. Paulo is making great strides with the wine-making, but the lead time is so long. Longer than we expected. And despite Paulo's connections, it's taking too long to develop markets for our product. I'm confident we'll be alright in the long term." She hesitated. "If we survive that long." She met Clio's eyes. "So you see, I'm getting squeezed from both sides."
Clio's mouth opened, but she couldn't think of an appropriate response. Poor Pia. And now Clio had dumped another beehive of trouble into her lap. It was bad enough that she thought she was losing her family home. Now this. "I'm so sorry."
Pia's face was alight. "Don't be sorry. Don't you see? This is exactly what I need. I have a plan."
She most definitely didn't see.
"Not only can I help you develop that part of the business plan, but I can make it my business."
Clio stared.
"I can see you don't understand." Pia began to explain how her solution to the Cittadini family finances was to start a business of her own– specialty foodstuffs. She retrieved an assortment of jars and bottles and boxes from her bags to show Clio. Clio examined them as Pia spoke– sauces, antipasto, jams, biscuits, herbed oils and flavored vinegars, all beautifully packaged, with a charming trendy label decorating each one. Alimentari Fattoria/Cucina Cittadini.
"Bibi designed the logo and labels for me. Aren't they lovely?"
Clio was amazed. "This is what you've been doing?"
"Si. I've been very busy. That is why I am here. I brought samples to show my friend, who owns this caffe, and several others in town. I've been making the rounds, not just here in Florence, but Sienna, San Gimignano, Arezzo, Pisa, trying to get orders. It turns out I have a lot of friends." She laughed.
"But you're already so busy, Pia. What more can you take on?"
"That's just it." Pia grabbed Clio's arm. "I'll roll the whole thing together. I'll calculate the numbers you need while I'm expanding my own business plan. The foods I make will be served at your Instituto, provided at wholesale prices of course. And I'll also manage the hospitality side of things, and with Bibi's help, market the conference, vacation and wedding rentals and such, too. I'll earn a salary, which will help Paulo and I with our bills, and both estates will profit."
Clio's body tingled, she felt breathless and dizzy, almost euphoric, as though an angel of God had visited her himself, and delivered the most astonishing news, reassuring her that all would be well.
"This was meant to be."
"Show me this letter you need signed," Pia said. "Let's get started!"
This just arrived by courier," Ignacio said, pushing into Guillermo's office with a letter in one hand, a caffe in the other.
"Eh?" Guillermo looked up, raking his hands through his hair.
"You are such a mess, Capo. Look at you. Have you been sleeping at all? How can you keep track of what you are doing?" Guillermo accepted the caffe and gratefully took a huge swallow, the hot liquid searing and temporarily soothing his empty stomach. When did I eat last?
He looked around him at the piles of sketches and prints. He grunted. "Isn't that what I pay you for, Ig?"
"If I knew what the hell you were doing, maybe." Ig handed the letter to Guillermo and started sifting through the papers, pulling his glasses from his curly dark hair and planting them on his long nose. "I can't tell one project from the other."
"Hmph. Neither can I some days. In fact there is so much overlap I may have mixed them up." He waved a hand over the mess, his gaze bouncing over his many drawings. "I am drawing one thing, and get an idea for another scheme, and sketch over it, and then realize it's the wrong permutation, the wrong…" He set down the coffee and ripped open the envelope with his letter opener. "Who's this from?" He scanned it. "Oh, Stronzo. No."
"What is it?"
Guillermo scraped a hand over his chin, grimacing. "Um. More problems. The Heritage Ministry." He wished he could just ask Jacopo for help with the government approvals, but that was off limits. This had to be above board. Shuffling through the papers o
n his desk, in search of the banking files, a profound longing to have Clio here with him washed over him like a tidal wave, sucking him under, making him feel feeble. She'd know where he put it. He rolled his shoulders, twisting his neck, trying to dislodge a knot of tension that had taken up permanent residence.
He stood up. "Where the hell is it?"
"Guillermo? Can I help?"
"Ah… A blue folder…"
Ignacio began to sort and stack the papers, helping him search. Together, they bent over the table, rummaging. His flailing hand almost knocked over the coffee. Ignacio reach out and caught it just as it wobbled. "Attento!"
Stronzo. That's all he needed was coffee all over his drawings and files.
His hands trembled, and he curled them into fists. Keeping track of the letters that came his way without her to vet them was adding stress to his already overwhelmed life.
He turned and paced away from the table, an edgy frisson pulling at his nerves like a cord that was unravelling, soon to snap. He turned back, scowling and faced the chaos of papers and facts again. How had Clio kept everything, including him, so organized, purposeful and calm? How did she make it seem so easy? They were actually having fun. It had been a grand adventure. Now he felt as though his life were fraying at the edges. If he couldn't even do this, how did she imagine he could head a foundation?
This was exactly why he didn't want this fucking responsibility in the first place. This was precisely what he'd built his streamlined, pleasurable life to avoid. Couldn't she see that? Her demands were killing him. They would kill him, as surely as they killed his father.
Calm down. It was ridiculous trying to carry on without communicating with her. But he'd have to deal with this alone. It wasn't her problem. He knew that. It was his own fault. He was so angry and frustrated and confused, he'd been avoiding her, fearing he'd say something regrettable. Or perhaps fearing that she wouldn't want him anymore. It made him feel sick with stress, and something more, a heaviness that felt more like grieving. Dio, he missed her. His heart ached with longing for her, so much it felt like physical pain, as though in the past month, while they'd spent time together almost daily, and made love often, she had become a part of him. A part that was now throbbing, like a missing limb.
The Art of Enchantment (Life is a Journey Book 1) Page 24
